Interviews 101
by Liana Legaspi
Summary: "Tell me about a time where you stood up for yourself," the Target interviewer asks. Percy mulls over that for a bit, scratching his chin with thinly veiled amusement. Would stabbing the god of war in the foot count? Probably not, but man, if he could get away with putting that down on a resume, that'd be amazing. / Why Percy Jackson can't get a summer job.


**Interviews 101**

* * *

"Tell me about a time when you gave great customer service."

Percy gives the Target manager a smile before tipping his head back, hoping he looked more like he was just thinking of a good example to give and less like he was ready to rip his hair out because _damn_ , unless falling into the deepest pits of hell so his girlfriend wouldn't have to go through Tartarus alone counted as "great customer service," Percy was kind of drawing a blank on this one.

It's only been a few minutes into the interview, but it's slowly dawned on Percy that he has pretty much zero experience as far a normal life is concerned. And, to top it all off, the only work experience Percy has ever had is: retrieving a lightning bolt, retrieving a helm of darkness, retrieving the Golden Fleece, retrieving an eternally virgin goddess (the Olympians should really stop losing their things), and saving the world a couple times. (Sure, that last one _sounds_ impressive but considering the amount of damage everyone caused, the son of Poseidon doesn't really think that counts as "great customer service" either—he also gave the go-ahead for stealing random mortals' phones during the Titan War so that has to hold a couple points against him anyways.)

Percy manages to paste a non-twitchy smile on his face. "I haven't had a lot of work experience to begin with, but there was this one time I helped my cousin clear out his work shed."

Two things wrong with that. One, the "work shed" was more like a smithy in Mount St. Helens, and two, referring a few-millennia old god like Hephaestus "his cousin" was probably a big no-no somewhere in the Half-Blood Handbook. There was probably a good chance Zeus would strike him down before the lady interviewing him could throw Percy out herself. Percy's smile melted a little into a grimace; his main concern right now was actually if the manager would be able to smell through his lie or not, rather than whether or not he was now of the king of gods' blacklist. What did that say about his sanity?

Percy wonders if it's a social crime for him to contaminate a wholesome store like Target with his non-saneness.

The manager nods her head at him, dutifully writing down his answer with a half bored, half approving look on her face. She wets her lips before glancing up at Percy again, "Tell me about a time where you stood up for yourself."

Percy mulls over that for a bit, scratching his chin with thinly veiled amusement. Would stabbing the god of war in the foot count? Probably not, but man, if he could get away with putting that down on a resume, that'd be amazing.

He opens his mouth to talk about how he defended himself from getting his head shoved into the girls' toilet at a summer camp he goes to regularly when a soft hissing reaches his ears and he just kind of sits there for a couple seconds wondering, why couldn't this have happened _after_ the interview? Why—at the very least—after orientation? Even if he got fired after that, they'd still have to pay him for the hours of shadowing and watching instructional videos. _Why_?

Percy refrains from pinching the bridge of his nose and gives the manager a small embarrassed grin, subtly shifting his foot towards the door in an attempt to hold it shut like that. He prays she doesn't notice; even he knows it'd look pretty bad if she thought he was trying to trap her in the interview room with him. Percy's pretty sure that Annabeth and his mom tried to force feed him tips on what to do if this interview went wrong; his mom's tips having more to do with if he gets stuck on a question while Annabeth's were more along the lines of, "If the manager is a monster, let it interview you first and _then_ kill it," or, "If the gods try to give you another quest, just turn them down—they don't pay demigods for their troubles anyways and it's not like we can really sell whatever rewards they give us," and Percy's personal favorite, "If the Oracle of Delphi hijacks Rachel's body and tries to call you with another prophecy about the world ending, just let it go to voicemail."

The hissing noise gets a little louder and Percy wonders, in the back of his mind, if it was the crusty old man at the guest service desk or the kid he sat next to during his pre-interview survey—the one with tattoos all over his beefy arms and a glare that'd ward off any customers from so much as _entering_ the store. Percy's foot bounces off the door when the monster (one of the ugly ones judging by the quick glimpse Percy got at the thing's feet) bangs against it in an effort to slam it open.

The manager jumps at the sound, looking over at the door in puzzlement. "What—"

Percy does his best to continue the interview, ignoring the increasingly loud thumps like he doesn't even notice them, easy going smile not even faltering for a moment. "A time where I stood up for myself?" _Thump._ "Well, I guess that'd be"— _thump_ —"when I was captain of a team playing Capture the Flag, and one of my co-leaders didn't, uh… _approve_ of my strategy."

 _Thump thump thump_."A-Ahhh…" The manager frowns at the door before making a move to stand up, saying, "I'm sorry about all this noise, just let me—" She's reaching for the door when Percy coughs roughly, praying to anyone listening to _please, please just kill whatever's out there because I'm busy, and I need a job, and I've saved all of you guys at_ least _two times._

"Noise?" Percy asks, painting on his best confused face (which, after hanging out in the Athena Cabin a few times, is pretty damn good if he does say so himself).

"I—yes." The manager matches him with a confused look of her own like, are you deaf? Percy just blinks at her. The lady hesitates a moment before jotting his answer down, eyes darting up to Percy's face briefly like she's trying to convince herself that she's not going crazy; she's not the only one hearing that god-annoying hissing and thumping right outside the door.

When the manager doesn't glean anything from Percy's expression, she smiles weakly at him before saying—voice raising higher and higher in order to be heard over the sound, "And"— _thump thump_ —"tell me"— _thump thump thump thump thump_ —"a time about when you helped someone in—" The noise cuts off so suddenly, that the manager stops speaking too.

Percy inwardly sighs in relief. Maybe the gods did answer his prayer—he makes a mental note to put an extra serving of pork onto the brazen alter as a thank you.

Then the door explodes open, hinges shattering and splinters flying, to show Percy one of the ugliest faces he's ever seen (and he's seen a _lot_ in his seventeen years). The things short but stocky and the skin on its face moves like it's full of maggots and worms. It also seems to be missing an eye (Percy can't tell if it's because it was just born that way or if someone poked the other one out).

He's not sure what humans see, but it must be pretty nasty. The manager's mouth opens and closes a few times before she finally gets out a terrified shriek. Percy groans in the back of his throat before whipping out Riptide and charging the things, snarling under his breath, "And I was actually doing _good_."

By the time the thirty minutes allotted for the interview are over, there's nothing but a door damaged beyond any hope of repair, Percy and the manager covered in gold dust, and a few singe marks on the walls because—apparently—the thing could breathe fire. Percy puts the cap back on Riptide before turning back the interviewer, scratching the back of his head.

"Er…" He laughs nervously, feeling all hope drain out of his system. "This wouldn't count as a time I'd helped someone else out…would it?"

When Percy doesn't get a call back to set up his orientation, he doesn't take it to heart.

(Rachel said he'd look stupid in red and khakis anyways.)

* * *

 **Not sure what this is or** _ **why**_ **it exists but whatever. Like it? Hate it? Tell me what you think. Feedback is a writer's lifeblood.**


End file.
